The Defender of the Light: Book 9 of The Sylvan Chronicles

by Wacht, Peter

  Thomas hadn’t been able to track Kaylie’s duel with Ragin, needing to focus his full attention on the Shadow Lord. He worried for her, wanted to help, but there was nothing that he could do. When her hand gripped his shoulder, giving him a squeeze of reassurance, he knew that she had won and he smiled, but only briefly because of the effort of doing so. Sweat dripped down Thomas’ face, the effort to maintain control of such a large amount of the Talent rapidly draining his energy. Though Acero had helped Thomas with his recovery by sharing some of his strength, his body’s fight against the darkness that Malachias had set within him could not be dealt with so quickly or easily. He needed time to rest and recuperate, time that he didn’t have.

  Sensing Thomas’ flagging strength, Kaylie reached for his hand. Seizing control of the Talent once again, she offered her power to him, and Thomas gladly accepted. He wove Kaylie’s Talent into his own, strengthening the shield and lessening the strain that was weighing on him from the Shadow Lord’s continuing assault.

  After several minutes, the Shadow Lord drifted away from Thomas’ shield, frustrated by his inability to break through. Thomas closed his eyes, breathing deeply, enjoying the respite, no matter how brief it might be. He held on to Kaylie’s hand tightly, thanking her with a quick squeeze of his fingers.

  “You are both stronger than I thought,” whispered the Shadow Lord. “But it will only be a matter of time. Even combined you do not have the strength to stand against me.”

  Thomas opened his eyes, smiling. His hearing was better than most, and the sounds that started to drift in through the open balcony and the holes dotting the walls hardened his will.

  “We don’t need to hold for much longer,” answered Thomas.

  The angry swirl of the Shadow Lord stopped, the black mist hanging in the air. The master of Blackstone could hear it now as well. Roars and screams, the scrape of steel on steel, drifted up from the courtyard just beyond the balcony. Every so often the chamber brightened as a blast of white flashed through the gloom, dust cascading down from the damaged ceiling as the ground rumbled in response to every lightning strike. The cries of battle drew even closer and became more intense. The Sylvan Warriors had breached Blackstone, and the Shadow Lord’s servants were faring poorly against them.

  For a moment, the Shadow Lord didn’t understand what had happened. His defenses around the city crafted of Dark Magic were stronger than any Sylvan Warrior could have hoped to endure. It must be the Key, he thought angrily. This whelp had used it to enter Blackstone secretly, and its passage into the city must have weakened or eliminated his magical traps.

  That conclusion set his mind racing. If that could happen, what else might be possible? The Shadow Lord knew that he was stronger than any who opposed him. This boy, the so-called Defender of the Light, was strong in the Talent. But was he strong enough to truly challenge him? And what was the likelihood of success now that he had joined with the girl? Moreover, what would happen if the boy’s grandparents joined the fight? Or any of the other Sylvan Warriors with skill in the Talent? Who was to say what the result would be if all three Keldragans and some of the others faced off against him? Once before the Sylvana had combined their strength to combat his Dark Magic. They had defeated him, and it had taken more than a thousand years for him to recover from that failure. Could the Sylvana do the same again? Or worse? For the first time in centuries, the Shadow Lord felt two emotions that were almost foreign to him. Fear and doubt. They combined to create an unease that gave him an urgency he hadn’t felt before.

  The Shadow Lord shot down in a blur, hoping to catch Thomas off guard. But the Sylvan Warrior was ready, and his shield remained intact, holding back the Shadow Lord. Thomas held tightly to Kaylie’s hand, continuing to manage the flow of her additional strength, working it through his shield constructed of the Talent to wherever the Shadow Lord probed and sought to shatter his defenses.

  The encircling black mist that was the Shadow Lord swirled faster and faster, blotting out what little light there was in the room until it seemed that Thomas and Kaylie stood in a perpetual night that blasted against them like a gale-force wind.

  “You cannot defeat me, boy!” shrieked the Shadow Lord, his Dark Magic pressing intensely on Thomas’ magical barrier, pushing it closer to him, shrinking it in size.

  Thomas knew what would happen if the shield became too small. That it would only be a matter of time until the Shadow Lord destroyed their only real protection. Even combining his strength in the Talent with Kaylie’s, Thomas still worried that the Shadow Lord could overwhelm them with his Dark Magic. The fate that Thomas had feared for so long seemed to be coming true. As the darkness came closer and closer, pushing incessantly against his defenses, compressing the natural magic of the Talent, Thomas struggled to maintain his control as his shield flickered uncertainly in response to his wavering strength.

  He had come to terms with his own death, but he could not allow Kaylie to suffer the same fate. There had to be something that he could do. But what? As his mind searched desperately for an answer, his eyes were drawn to a tiny speck of light that burned brightly in the tightening space that he and Kaylie shared. It came from the Key that hung around his neck, a single surge of brightness in a sea of black. Perhaps that was the answer, he thought, a final option available to him.

  As the Shadow Lord increased the potency of his attack, the black mist pressing closer and closer, turning the bright white of their shield into a worrisome grey, Thomas focused on the Key that hung around his neck. He had sensed its power when he had first found it, and he had used that power to enter Blackstone. Yet now it seemed to be calling to him. Telling him what it wanted.

  Having no other choices to consider, Thomas complied, allowing his instincts to guide his actions. He began to focus the Talent he controlled on the Key, first in just a small stream of power, then more and more as his confidence grew. The shield that he had created began to flicker faster and faster from white to grey to black, then back again, bulging inward in some places as the Shadow Lord continued to push and Thomas pulled the Talent away from the barrier and transferred it to the Key.

  Kaylie watched in fear and fascination, worried that what Thomas was doing would give the Shadow Lord the break in their defenses that he so desperately needed. But she saw as well that the Key was shining more and more brightly as Thomas wove the Talent that they controlled into the artifact. The Key began to pulse with a blinding light, the flashes coming more rapidly as it pulled in more and more of the Talent that Thomas sought to infuse it with. The surging energy became more intense, hotter, almost eager, until the physical Key could barely be seen within the blazing white energy.

  That’s when Kaylie noticed the change that had occurred. The Shadow Lord had halted his assault, pulling away from them. The black mist and shadow continued to swirl, but the Shadow Lord was hesitating, apparently undecided about what to do next. As if the Shadow Lord didn’t know what to make of what Thomas was doing with the Key. As if it could be a threat to him.

  With his barrier no longer under attack, Thomas pulled in more and more of the Talent, combining his and Kaylie’s strength into a single flow that flooded into the Key. The diamonds that were a part of the stone pulsed brighter and brighter, each flash illuminating the chamber in a dazzling light. And with each pulse the white energy began to destroy the darkness that had lurked in the chamber for millennia.

  That’s when Thomas realized what he had to do.

  “You’re right,” said Thomas in a quiet, confident voice, a small smile playing across his lips. “I can’t defeat you on my own. Even with Kaylie’s help I can’t. But with the Key, I can destroy you.”

  Drawing out the very last bit of the Talent that he could from both himself and Kaylie, Thomas grasped the Key in his free hand, raising it toward the black mist that twisted and turned above them. Then with a single thought he released the tremendous magic that the Key held. What burst from the ancient artifact was more than the nat
ural power Thomas had infused it with as the ancient relic magnified the strength of the energy it held a thousandfold.

  The blazing white light blasted into the Shadow Lord, illuminating the chamber with a brightness that rivaled the sun. For a moment, nothing happened. The light and the dark appeared to be at an impasse, two unstoppable forces having slammed into one another. But slowly, ever so slowly, the tide turned as the stream of white light swelled, becoming stronger and stronger, and more and more demanding. Thomas released even more of the energy that the Key had amplified, putting all the strength that remained within him into his task as he knew that this was his only chance to defeat the Shadow Lord once and for all.

  The white light began to eat at the edges of the darkness, biting at it. Destroying it. Obliterating it. The Shadow Lord struggled to defend himself, to find some way to combat the boy’s assault. The ancient creature drew on more and more of his Dark Magic, attempting to hold back the white light. To stop it from wrapping itself around him. But no matter what he tried, the stream of white energy hungrily consumed all the Dark Magic that the Shadow Lord offered, taking it in and extinguishing it, and with every cut the swirling black mass that was the Shadow Lord shrank.

  “Release me, boy!” shrieked the Shadow Lord. “Release me and I can give you everything that you desire. Release me and I can give you the Kingdoms!”

  Faster and faster the white light from the Key devoured the darkness. The blood-red pinpricks of light began to flicker in the black mist, the struggle between the opposing forces tearing at the very essence of the Shadow Lord.

  “I don’t want the Kingdoms,” Thomas answered calmly.

  “Then what?” screamed the Shadow Lord, the creature’s pain seeping into his voice as the white light continued to devour him. “What do you want? I can give you anything you want!”

  “You’re giving me what I want,” said Thomas calmly. “I want you to pay for what you have done. I want you to pay what is owed.”

  With that, Thomas offered a final surge of his strength, a final blast of the Talent. The Key gratefully accepted it, then turned its full force on the Shadow Lord. The pinpricks of blood-red flickered faster and faster, the swirling black growing smaller and smaller in size. The fiery white light ripped into the Shadow Lord, eating away at what remained of an evil that had plagued the Kingdoms for thousands of years. Destroying an evil that had threatened nature itself.

  The pure white light shot into and through the Shadow Lord, shredding the creature. Sensing its impending victory, an enormous bolt of energy burst from the Key. With the resulting blinding flash, a thunderous boom rocked the chamber. Dust and small pieces of stone fell to the floor, the reverberations of the explosion rippling out to the very edges of Blackstone.

  For the first time in centuries, sunlight streamed into the chamber unimpeded. The grey clouds that hung over the city slowly dissipated, replaced with a clean bright light that lit up the entire room, leaving no place for the unnatural darkness of the Shadow Lord. With a final flicker of red, the black mist, now no more than a tiny, swirling mass of darkness, disappeared with a sharp crack and a final screech of terror.

  Thomas released his hold on the Key, allowing it to fall against his chest. The artifact no longer pulsed, but a spark of bright, white light continued to shine within the diamonds embedded in steel.

  Thomas smiled. They had done it. They had won. But even though the Shadow Lord was destroyed, he knew that there was still more to do, the pull of the Key requiring more from him. But first things first. Reaching down he took Kaylie in his arms. He had asked for more and more of the Talent from her, and she had gladly given it. But it had weakened her past the point of exhaustion. Holding her carefully, he stumbled out of the chamber.

  58

  Atop the Wall

  The Breaker stretched from the Winter Sea to the western Highlands, a monstrous wall of black stone that rose several hundred feet from base to top. It was so wide, in fact, that several dozen men could ride their horses side by side across the parapet, which provided enough space for catapults, huge buckets for burning oil and pitch, and other weapons of war. At regular intervals sally ports dotted the base of the wall, though all remained barred and guarded and had been crafted within the stone in such a way so that they weren’t identifiable when looking at the barrier from the direction of the Northern Steppes until they were opened.

  Gregory strode atop the Breaker emanating a confidence that he didn’t feel. With each step, a Fal Carrachian soldier, or a soldier from Benewyn or Kenmare or Armagh, saluted, demonstrating their respect for the High King. He nodded, smiled or gave a few words of encouragement, locking away the nervousness that roiled within him.

  He had placed the fighters of Fal Carrach, Benewyn, Armagh and Kenmare at the top of the wall, rear guards protecting the sally ports. The warriors of the Desert Clans had arrived just the day before, prepared to venture out from the Breaker at a moment of opportunity or need, but for now those skilled horsemen would remain in reserve, joining the Marchers who waited impatiently for word of the Highland Lord.

  Looking out over the top of the wall, Gregory saw nothing but the dark creatures of the Shadow Lord. Thousands upon thousands of Ogren, corralled by Shades, stood near the Breaker and stretched across the Northern Steppes with more war parties appearing every hour, to say nothing of the Mongrels, Dragas and other monstrous beasts that many of the soldiers of the Kingdoms had never seen before.

  In their midst sat Rodric Tessaril, former High King and ruler of Armagh, and apparent general of the Dark Horde in the Shadow Lord’s absence. Though Gregory bet that Malachias, the tall, bald man who rode at Rodric’s side and radiated both a malevolence and sense of command that the former High King could never achieve, was the one really in charge.

  The Dark Horde had assaulted the Breaker three times so far that morning. The first two were just probing attacks, testing the defenders, seeking a weakness. Rodric had demonstrated a singular unimaginativeness that had played into the hands of the Kingdom soldiers. Each time the former High King had sent dozens of Ogren war parties against the towering barricade, the huge beasts screaming in rage as they charged toward the stone wall. Their cries were short-lived, as the defenders atop the Breaker launched thousands of steel-tipped arrows that tore through the ranks of the dark creatures. Those that had reached the base of the wall had little time to enjoy their success, as vats of boiling pitch spilled from above, followed by flaming torches that set the Ogren and other beasts ablaze, the stench of burning meat almost overpowering as it drifted to the top of the wall.

  After the first two failed attempts, Malachias had argued with Rodric for quite some time before the deposed High King tried something different for the third attack. He had called forward an Ogren war party wearing spiked armor on their arms and legs. The massive beasts, their upper bodies heavily muscled, had climbed the wall with ease, driving the spikes on their armor into the wall and pulling themselves up the roughened stone. The resulting skirmish atop the Breaker had been spirited but short, the defenders overwhelming the single Ogren war party in just a few minutes by using long pikes to keep the dark creatures from scaling the parapet and attacking the beasts while they still clung to the stone, expelling them from the wall like a leech stuck to the skin and allowing gravity to do the rest.

  But Gregory worried about what would happen when multiple war parties attacked in such a way, believing that this latest effort by Malachias was simply another test, and a successful one at that. He doubted that his soldiers could hold the top with such facility against a larger number of Ogren. So, in his mind, it was just a matter of time. Either Thomas succeeded in Blackstone, the odds for which were not in his favor, or the Kingdoms fell when the Dark Horde scaled the Breaker and then descended on the lands beyond like a swarm of locusts.

  To say nothing of the fact that the Shadow Lord held his only daughter, having received word just before he climbed to the top of the Breaker that Rodric sou
ght to offer terms for her safe release. Gregory had refused, suspecting what the Shadow Lord would require in return. He loved his daughter more than life itself, but he could not put her above the needs of all the Kingdoms. He would have to trust in Thomas and hope that the enterprising Highland Lord found a way to free her. Gregory growled in irritation, pushing those dark thoughts from his mind and knowing that he could do nothing about his many worries. But he could do something here.

  “My lord, to the north.”

  Kael Bellilil, Highlander by birth and Swordmaster of Fal Carrach for more than two decades, called Gregory over. Kael had been working with a ballista crew to target the weapon correctly.

  Gregory looked to where Kael pointed. For a moment, Gregory thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him, because he was seeing something that he had never seen before. The grey clouds that normally hid the Charnel Mountains from view had disappeared, sunlight now streaming down onto those mountain peaks for the first time in centuries.

  He stared for several long minutes, trying to decipher what this unexpected occurrence might mean. Had Thomas succeeded? Was his daughter safe? A light touch on his arm pulled him from his wonderings.

  “What is it, Gregory? You seem distracted.”

  Sarelle Makarin, Queen of Benewyn, stood next to Gregory, her hand now on his arm.

  “I was just thinking,” he replied, enjoying the feel of her touch.

  “After our conversation earlier this morning, I was thinking about what I would do after we defeat the Dark Horde. After Thomas succeeded and my daughter was safe.”

  “And what would that be?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

  Gregory turned to face Sarelle, capturing her eyes with his own. She noticed that they glowed with an intensity that she had never seen before.